Almost two years ago, BRADDOCK was still deciding whether he wanted to commit to wrestling, after some quick success in an outlaw mudshow deathmatch “company.” One thing that hasn’t changed is his love of alcohol. At the time, he was living with his best friend and drinking buddy, “Kinsey.” (It was his last name but that’s what he went by.) After rent was paid, a majority of their spending money went on alcohol.

Now, it was almost two years ago and the duo had been drinking since they woke up that morning, some ten hours earlier. They started drinking twenty-two ounce, tall-boys of “Hurricane.” It is a malt liquor with a higher percentage of alcohol than most. They bought twenty-four cans that morning, as soon as the local mini-mart opened for business at six that morning.

It was now going on seven in the evening and, with all of the tall-boys drank, they had moved on to a bottle of Jameson that BRADDOCK had put away to “save for later.” When they were intoxicated off of just beer, they were goofy, annoying, and occasionally got a little carried away rough housing and broke a lamp, a table, or one time, a wall. But when they consumed hard alcohol, the duo were like Gremlins who were fed after midnight and then hatched.

Kinsey was built anything like BRADDOCK. Kinsey stands six feet, one inch and weighs about a buck-eighty. He thin but wirey and deceptively strong. He was the Ying to BRADDOCK’s Yang. BRADDOCK’s brother, Tyler, refuses to be around them, especially when he’s been drinking. And this evening, in particular, was a prime example of why.

See, they were shithouse hammered and had suckered a friend of theirs into giving them a ride to the grocery store to buy supplies for dinner. That friend, Josh, had the same first name as Kinsey, something which Kinsey brought up, incessantly, when really intoxicated. And poor Josh got roped into sticking around for a Bar-B-Q. Josh was gifted to job of being the DJ on their stereo.

While Kinsey tended to the steaks and chicken on the grill, BRADDOCK was sitting on the couch, scraping out the bowl of his cheap, glass pipe with a pairing knife. Josh has just finished setting up a playlist on the laptop which was connected to their stereo system. That’s when Kinsey came in the house and socked BRADDOCK in the jaw on the left side of his face with a stiff right jab.

Kinsey burst out in laughter while Josh took a seat on an opposing couch, eyeing the two cautiously. He has seen their “horsing around" turn into all out brawling when they were this intoxicated. BRADDOCK tossed the pipe and knife onto the coffee table and shot to his feet like a puppet popping out of a “Jack in the Box.” Kinsey squatted slightly and turned so that his left side faced his buddy. Both men had their fists up, in a classic fighting stance, looking ready to brawl. Kinsey is taller and has a longer reach while BRADDOCK is built like a brick shithouse. In an attempt to try and prevent the inevitable, Josh stands up as well and gets in between them, his right hand on Kinsey's chest and his left hand on BRADDOCK’s chest.

Josh:”C'mon, guys! Don’t do this shit again. I swear to God I will leave if you start fighting!” he doesn’t normally yell at them but this was as close to yelling as he has ever gotten.

Both BRADDOCK and Kinsey explode in braying laughter and both men drag Josh into a group hug.

Kinsey”Bro! We are just playing! Besides, you ain’t a man unless you’ve been in a fight! Right, Brad?” he grins like a dope.

BRADDOCK grins the same dopey grin and nods in agreement. That’s when Josh made a stunning admission.

”I’ve never hit anyone before. I mean, I’ve never even been in a fight before…” his voice, barely a whisper, trails off to nothing.

BRADDOCK and Kinsey stare at their friend as if he revealed he was secretly a Grey in a human suit.

”You’ve never been in a fight, ever?” he asks, almost in awe.

”What about punchin some fool? You must have hit someone at somepoint in your life!” he says in disbelief. But Josh sheepishly shakes his head no.

”No! Why would I? I have always tried to avoid fights.” he says with a shrug.

”You ain’t a man if you ain’t never punched nobody! Braddy has punch lots of fools! Me, I have punch a grip of fools!” his eyes find the knife on the coffee table and his scoops it up, causing Josh's eyes to widen in concern. ”So, lemme guess, you never stabbed noone neither?” he holds the knife at eye level for the three of them.

Josh is standing between the two drunken, dangerous “friends" and is now roped into whatever-the-fuck these drunken assholes are doing.

”N-no. Why w-would I?” he stumbles over a couple words and his voice trembles with scared nervousness.

”I’ve stabbed someone. And I have also been stabbed. Braddy, you’ve stabbed someone before, right?” he asks and BRADDOCK nods in affirmation. ”And I have both been stabbed and stabbed an asshole or three who deserved it. C'mon, Josh, stab me! You don’t have to go deep…just stab me! You’ll be a man and will actually be able to fuck your wife so good she ain’t lookin elsewhere for dick!”

Josh's jaw tightens and flexes and his hands have clenched into fists. He takes in a deep, slow breath before exhaling it slowly as well. Calmly, he says ”I’m not stabbing anybody. And don’t talk about my wife. I fuckin mean it, Kinsey…” and he wasn’t. You could hear it in his voice.

”C'mon! Don’t be a bitch! Braddy'll do it!” he says while handing the knife to Josh, who pushes Kinsey’s hand away. Josh, in turn, offers it to BRADDOCK. Josh is stuck watching this drunken proof of manhood play out. Kinsey pulls his shirt up and offers his right flank. Before Josh can open his mouth to protest this idea, BRADDOCK’s right hand whips forward and it almost looks like he missed.

Until the spurt of blood launched from the three inch gash just above the waistline of his jeans. Josh's eyes nearly pop out of his skull at the sight of the geyser of blood but neither Josh nor BRADDOCK appear concerned in the slightest.

”Fuck dude…” he manages to mutter while pulling off his t-shirt. He wads the white Nike shirt up and presses it to the wound and Kinsey holds it in place.

”Don’t worry about it, bro, I-m fine…” but judging by the growing red bloom on the t-shirt, he wasn't in fact, fine. Kinsey resisted going to the emergency room for about twenty minutes but after nearly passing out, he relented. The large amount of alcohol has thinned their blood and he is leaking like a sieve.

Josh drove them to the hospital and he watched in horror as BRADDOCK scooped his injured friend up and carried him inside. Nurses scrambled from behind the counter, one with a wheelchair, insistent on helping. They wheel him to the back leaving BRADDOCK and Josh in the waiting area where about a half a dozen other people are waiting.

Most eyes are on BRADDOCK due to being hammered and covered in blood. He looks like a horror movie survivor. ”Go into the bathroom and clean yourself up, man. Jesus Christ!” he whispers. But BRADDOCK listened to him. It was about an hour later, while BRADDOCK has nodded off, nurses have contacted the police for a possible assault. Kinsey had repeated to the nurses the story of how he got stabbed. While he thought it was hilarious the doctor and nurses didn’t.

The two officers approach the empty counter and while they are delayed, Josh routes his buddy and, thankfully, he woke up without causing a drunken scene. Josh quickly hustles his buddy out if the emergency rooms waiting area and out the main doors. He gets BRADDOCK into his car and convinces him to wait there.

Josh returned inside and the two officers were waiting, and wondering, where his tattooed friend disappeared to. But Josh didn’t give him up. He did, however, find out just how bad the stab wound was. BRADDOCK clipped Kinsey’s right kidney and when all was said and done, he also require a pint of blood to make up for what he lost.

Josh knew his friend had lost a lot of blood. He had bled through that t-shirt pretty quick and then an extra large beach towel was applied. Shortly after switching to the beach towel they left for the emergency room and he had nearly bled through it on the twelve minute drive. The drunken stabbing took surgery to fix his kidney and twelve stitches to close the wound.

The police were able to track down Kinsey even though he gave the name “Donnie Burger" to the register nurse in the emergency room. Due to the description and their familiarity with him due to run-ins with the law and the fact he was a bouncer at a couple local bars. Threats of charges ranging from assault with a deadly weapon to attempted murder were thrown out there by the police but nothing ever happened.

Now days, BRADDOCK and Kinsey aren’t allowed to communicate, let alone talk. Several months after the stabbing incident, Kinsey met young lady and began dating her. She quickly grew tired of their insanity and put a stop to one, or both, ending up in the hospital again. Occasionally they will bump into each other at a grocery store or while getting gas and exchange quick pleasantries but, since the stabbing, things have been different.

            Monday, Oct 2nd…

Monday morning, BRADDOCK stepped of a plane in Los Angeles and hurried one of the many hospitals. On the way, he stopped at a “head” shop and purchased a water filtration device (aka bong) as well as a dozen roses from a roadside vendor. He quietly entered the hospital room of “The Suicide Blonde,” Arley Kirk.

The night before, Arley had been attacked backstage at the One Wrestle show she was working. The assault was brutal and left her in the hospital. When BRADDOCK arrived, he was escorted to her room and notified that she needed her rest. The staff gave him dirty looks and shook their heads while others snickered at the “vase.”

He stood at her bedside for about fifteen minutes before leaving the room. It was when he stepped on the elevator that a kid recognized him. (Not like he is hard to miss.) THE boy was with his mother and explained that his little brother had cancer and was in the kids ward. Much like the Grinch, the kid got through to his cold heart and convinced the tattooed dreadnought to come say hi.

He entered the ward and spent time with each of the kids. There was over twenty of them but he spent a few minutes with each one. It was a small boy, sick with some God awful disease, who took his hand and led him to a room lined with couches and cluttered with toys. The boy led them to a bright purple and neon green rug and they both plopped down. Other kids started to filter in and sit down to watch a horrific cartoon know as “Peppa Pig.”

He laid back and used a oversized stuffed turtle as a pillow and promptly dozed off. All the travel and matches caught up to him and get dozed off. Forty minutes later, his Upstart House coach woke him with a gentle nudge with the toe of his boot. All the kids had left the room and the television was off. BRADDOCK checked on Arley once more before leaving to the airport, bound for Singapore.

            Friday, October 6th…..

We fade in in BRADDOCK, sitting pool side at the Upstart Mansion, with a Pabst tall-boy in hand. Despite the sun, he is wearing a black hoodie with the word “Dirtbag" written across the chest in Old English font. He also is wearing a pair of black board shorts with a weathered skull above the left knee. Rather than his black framed reading glasses, he has on a pair of black Spy brand sunglasses. He smirks before speaking.

”In a few days, in Reno, I face a man who is self-proclaimed, ’unbreakable.’” he makes air quotes with his fingers. ”I accept your challenge, sir. Hell, even Bruce Willis had a flaw in ‘Unbreakable’ and ‘Glass’ and you sure as Hell ain’t anywhere near as badass as Bruce. He has forgotten more than you will ever know…”[/color) he said with a chuckle.

”I haven’t seen much of you but, to be fair, I haven’t been payin much attention to anything not directly involving me. “ he says with a shrug. ”From what I do understand, you are the product of a family of wrestlers and out to make a name for himself.” he says before looking over his shoulder. The camera follows his eye and pans across the huge Mansion in the hills of Los Angeles. It continues panning to the left, showing the pool with several young ladies lounging poolside, basking in the sun.

The camera ultimately stops on BRADDOCK who is smiling, showing off the missing front teeth that kids sing about wanting around Christmas time. ”You won’t be making your name off of my back. I myself might be new to the business as well but I won’t be your stepping stone. The Fall of Hate has begun and you are in its path.

Your talent was given to you in your DNA. Your family has a number of successful wrestlers… even a World Champion. My family….? I couldn’t tell ya. But what I lack in God given talent and training, I make up for it with my strength, rage, and ability to take a beating. You grew up learning the ins-and-outs of the business while I grew up learnin how to survive. At Climax Control, you will learn a little somethin about survival, yourself.”

BRADDOCK picks up his tallboy and stands up. As the scene fades out, he has turned his back on the camera and is watching the sun set. Just before its completely black, BRADDOCK tips his head back and guzzles his beer.

Back in Stockton, sitting on the edge of his couch, Braddock is leaning forward and taking a hit from his bong. It is resting on his extra large ottoman that matches his “L" shaped couch. It’s a little after four in the morning and he has been home from his travels for just a few hours. On the television, “That 70's Show” plays on Peacock, absent-mindedly in the background. When he stops to figure out what is happening on the screen, “Kelso" has just cheated on Jackie and Braddock loses his interest

The thought of laying in his bed, his head nestled down in one of his pillows while sleep pulls him down into its depths. Instead, he stretches out and places his head on one of the “Dwight" throw pillows given to him as a gift. The show goes to commercial and he is asleep before it returns.

He awakens to the smell of bacon cooking and the sounds of it frying in a pan. His head swims with sleep and he has to shake his head a few times to try and clear the cobwebs. His vision doubles, triples, and he rubs his eyes to clear them. When he looks to the kitchen, his vision is mostly clear but a little fuzzy around the edges.

His brother, Tyler, is handling several pans on the stove top with ease. He is wearing an apron over the top of a blue wife-beater and looks at home in the kitchen. When he sees his brother stand up and sway a bit, he scoffs and shakes his head. ”Bro, you really gotta slow down on the partyin. You look rough, man.” he says while keeping his focus on the stove top.

His brother replies by extending the middle finger on his left hand before shuffling down the hall to the bathroom. He doesn’t bother to shut the door and if someone were within earshot they would hear him taking a piss. When he’s finished he washes his hands, and then splashes some cold water on his face, before returning to the living room. Once there he collapses back onto the couch.

”I wasn’t partyin, asshole. I had a match in Knoxville on Saturday for one company and the Tulsa on Sunday for another company. I got home late as fuck last night. I’m tired is all…” he says, saying his defense. Tyler mouths “Sure" at him but it goes unseen.

Tyler finishes up breakfast while his brother dozes on the couch. He fixes a plate for each of them before bringing it out to the living room and placing them on the ottoman. He nudges his brother and, after a couple more tries, he wakes him up.

They eat while Ridiculousness plays on the television. Neither of them speak while they are eating and not a word is said until they are finished. ”When are we moving in to the new shop?” Braddock asks, still rubbing sleep out of his right eye with one of his meaty knuckles.

”Wednesday. I hired a couple girls I know who were wanting some free, or discounted, ink. They’re going to pack up the old shop, clean the old and new shop, and then get all our shit into the new place. We will be slingin ink by the weekend!” he says while loading a plate with eggs, bacon, and hash browns. ”When’s your next match?”

Tyler brings two plates out to the living room and sets one in front of his sleepy brother, on the ottoman, before setting his own down as well. He heads back to the kitchen and, when he returns, he is carrying a couple segments of paper towel and a fresh PBR. He takes the beer from Tyler, pops the top, and guzzles half of it before letting out a rumbling belch.

Tyler flips through some channels and ultimately stops on a rerun of “Revenge of the Nerds.” It’s the scene where they first find the dilapidated house that would become the Tri-Lambs fraternity house. They eat while half-heartedly watch the flick and surf their phones.

”Who the fuck is that guy you’re facing this weekend? Is this some kind of joke? Are you being punished?” Tyler asks, holding up his phone so that his brother can see a graphic for the match. It shows both men, one on each side of the Pic; BBRADDOCK is yoked out, tattooed and screaming. His opponent looks like one of the fans in attendance, rather rotund, hr is wearing a Grey Cardigan over a plain white t-shirt.

Braddock shrugs. ”I think he is, to be honest. Some chick won ‘Queen for a day’  or some shit at the pay-per-view, and scheduled this match. I’ve never met her so I’m guessin this match is to fuck with him.” he says with another shrug of his thick shoulders. ”Doesn’t matter; I'ma beat the fuck outta Tons-of-Fun…” he says, standing up and taking both empty plates to the kitchen sink.

”Fuck dude! Have you gotten a text from Traci?” Tyler asks and by the tone of his voice, Braddock knows something is wrong.

”Not in, like, twenty minutes or so. Why? What’s up?” he asks, exiting the kitchen and into his living room. He sees the look on Tyler’s face and grabs his phone. There is a text; it’s from the girlfriend of one of his oldest friends.

”Brad. I don’t know how else to sat this w/o blurting it out. Jerry died last night in his sleep. They think it was a heart attack. I will get hold of you soon. Traci"

He looked to his brother, Tyler, who is staring off into space. Shock leaves his mouth agape and his head slowly pivoting from right to left and back again. Braddock drops onto the couch, thinking back to the last time he saw him.

It was a few months ago, shortly before BRADDOCK joined the ranks of Professional Wrestling. BRADDOCK, his brother Tyler, and Jerry were all sitting in a local dive bar and the three had been tying one on for a few hours now. Jerry was their age; they met in the fourth grade and the three of them bonded over being picked on. BRADDOCK and his brother, for their secondhand clothes and for BRADDOCK’s glasses, while Jerry got picked on for his weight.

Jerry was always a chubby fellow and, as an adult, didn’t give a shit what people thought about his weight. But as a kid, it was a flashing target to all the bullies roaming the playground like sharks. But once he started hanging out with BRADDOCK and Tyler, the bullies were kept at bay, thanks to BRADDOCK’s temper and how quick he turned to violence.

More than once over the years he was kicked out of school for fighting. As usually the case, the bully who got bloodied was given the free pass while the victim who defended himself was considered the aggressor. BRADDOCK didn’t care if he got kicked out and, over time, the beatings at home came to an end. But that’s a story for another day…

Standing in his living room, holding his phone in his right hand, BRADDOCK looks to his brother who is stunned silent, sitting on the couch. He takes a seat next to his brother and drapes his left arm over his shoulders and pulls Tyler in for a hug.

”Love ya, bro.” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

”Love ya too, Asshole.” he says with a chuckle.


                         ***     

The scene opens on BRADDOCK, leaning against the drivers side door of his oh-nine Malibu. He is in a pair of cut-off black Dickies, a pair of black Adidas, and a white wife-beater tank top. His Mohawk is standing upright and his eyes are a bit glassy. A crooked smile hangs on his lips and, off in the distance, a police siren wails.

”So, someone doesn’t like ‘Tons-of-Fun,’ and she put him in a match against one of the most violent people on the roster. I got no qualms on beatin Round Boy within an inch of his life ending but, what I wonder, is it worth it? Will the fans give a sh(bleep!)t that this Mama's boy gets ragdolled?

I understand, this is the ‘Queen’ punishing this guy for some transgression that happened before I joined the company. He’ll, maybe it happened after I joined and I missed it; either way I don’t give a f(bleep!)k! I’m gettin paid whether it’s a four hundred pound sack of sh(bleep!) or an in-shape Calvin Harris. It’s nothin personal, Hell, I follow this guy on Twitter and have never met him. But a lion doesn’t meet the gazelle before he hunts it…” he says with a smirk.

The camera follows as BRADDOCK walks towards the back yard. As we get closer to the back of the house a mix of voices can be heard.  When the camera comes around the corner it finds a crowd of about a dozen people, all but three of them are women in their early to mid twenties and dressed to inspire lust and desire while the few guys present are dressed in their favorite NFL teams jerseys. (Forty-Niners and Raiders for those curious.) Tonight’s game between the Chiefs and Lions is being projected onto a large sheet that has been set up as a screen. Your standard BBQ fare is present as well as plenty of alcohol and cannabis.

When the camera finally finds BRADDOC again, he has a fresh Pabst in hand and one of the blondes present on his hip. She stares at him, all doe eyed, while he is distracted momentarily by the game. Jared Goff takes the opening snap and BRADDOCK turns his attention back to the camera.

”Look, Gabe, if you got off your mom’s title, and out of her basement, you could actually have a woman like this touch your pecker!” he pauses, examining the women before turning his attention back to the camera. ”Well, maybe not like this lady. I don’t think you could pay for a woman of this caliber to give you the time of day. Get out of the basement and into the real World, buddy.

I don’t know what you did to piss the chick off who scheduled this match but, damn, she really must not like you. I know you’ve been in the company for a little bit and I got no clue what kind of beatings you’ve taken. But the one I'ma dish out…” he pauses to watch as the Lions punt the ball away. ”I'ma beat your ass like it was your Mom who caught ya surfin porn on your phone. That old saying, ‘It’s gonna hurt me more than you' don’t apply here. And I’ma take great joy in inflicting it. You’re in over your head, big boy, and you’re gonna get hurt.”

The blonde gets up on her tippy toes and cups her hand over her mouth, against his ear, and whispers something to him. Whatever it is, it causes his eyes to pop open and his jaw to drop. He looks at her with a grin and gives her a nod. She walks off as he addresses the camera once more.

”Los Angeles is just down the road from where I am right now. I’ve already proven, with that battle against Calvin Harris, that I am not anyone to slouch on. And, while you won a match recently and received so much praise for it, that win means nothing when you’re standing across from me. Be smart; make sure your Aflac is paid up or, better yet, don’t come to L.A. The only thing there is the beating of your pathetic life waiting for ya. Be smart, Jumbo.”

The blonde returns, with another blonde just as cute, and grabs BRADDOCK by the hand. They lead him away, towards the house, as the camera fades to black.

Summer of two thousand and one.

He was almost eight years old but he and his foster brother, Tyler (who is a year older than him), were running the streets of Riverside for the past year or so now. Their “parents" worked a lot and, when not working, were often times loaded in a bar. They didn’t just “fall through the cracks,” these two were forgotten by the overworked system. On this summer day, they are breaking in to cars and taking anything “cool" they can find (as well as any and all money, cigarettes, and lighters.) Tyler has a pocket full of change he liberated from several cars already while his brother picked up a switchblade from under the seat of a battered Iroc Z.

”I have, like, ten dollars in quarters here….let’s go to the arcade! I read online some cheats for Tekken Tag and I want to kick that Jerry kid's ass. Tired of him beating me…”

”Cool! I found a knife in that Camaro.”

”Lucky asshole.” he says, punching his brother in the shoulder. It takes them about fifteen minutes to walk to the mall where their arcade destination awaits. As they cross the threshold from the tiled, food court floor onto the carpeted floor of “Tilt,” a cacophony of sound assaults their ears. Bells ring, explosions rumble, machine guns fire, and skeeballs roll up their lane. Two kids are already playing Tekken Tag and a line of three more kids are waiting to challenge the victor.

”Hey, Nestor, Tyler; haven’t seen you two in awhile!” says a kid about their age wearing a Power Rangers t-shirt.

Nestor is Braddock’s birth name. He took on the moniker of “Braddock,” at the age of ten, after the name of the main character of one of his favorite movies. Chuck Norris played a Vietnam P.O.W. in the eighties action flick “Missing in Action 2” and his last name was Braddock.

Chuck wasn’t a muscle bound hulk like Stallone, Schwarzenegger, or Van Dam. He looked like most of the adult men he has seen growing up as opposed to a “movie star.” And while Tyler liked Bruce Lee, there was something about Chuck that caught Nestor's eye (Chuck Norris looks a lot like his father but he was too young to remember that.) 

”Either of you guys want to play Time Crisis with me?” the kid asks, hopeful.

”Naw, man, I got a date with Tekken Tag! I’m gonna pick Ogre and King; I read some tips online and I’m so gonna kick some ass!” Tyler was better than his brother at Tekken Tag but, at home on their Playstation 2, his brother wad untouchable at Madden. Having “parents” who were never around allowed them to “acquire” items like the video game console without many questions. On the other side of that coin, food was scarce and nobody, truly, cared for either of the boys.

Braddock pushed his glasses (almost identical to Cory Feldmen's glasses in ‘Stand by Me.’) back up onto the bridge of his nose with his right index finger before they were knocked off his face due to a hard shove from behind. Tyler instantly was on the defense, getting between his brother and the older, barely teenage boy who shoved him. Braddock puck up his glasses, folded the arms down, and set them on the nearby top of a sit down Ms. Paxman game.

The nearby kids start to gather around, anxious to see a fight, and as the older boy opens his mouth to speak, the foster brothers attack at the same time. At the time, Braddock was just under five feet tall and barely weighed one hundred pounds while Tyler was a couple inches taller, they weighed the same amount. Tyler feigned a punch to the face and, instead, kicked the boy in the nuts. He howled in pain, grabbed a this injured testicle with both hands, and dropped to his knees. Braddock used this opportunity to kick his tormentor in the face. The boys nose sounded like an ear of corn being broken in half and blood geysered out from his nostrils. The front of his shirt was soaked in blood and a pool was beginning to form on the floor, in front of his knees, where he kneeled on the carpet.

The brothers scrambled out of the arcade almost leaving his glasses behind. They weaved between customers standing in line at various restaurants in the food court before cutting down a hallway leading to the rest rooms. The hallway ends several feet past the men’s room door in a set of black double doors (the kind with the pushbar about three and a half feet off the ground.) A large, rectangular, red sign hands on both doors and both read the same thing; “Fire Exit Only Alarm Will Sound!” Indeed, a bell begins screaming as soon as they crash through the two doors and out into the sun.

Nobody pays the duo any attention as they race through the parking lot. They run for blocks before both collapse into the brown grass of a strangers lawn, and Braddock vomits up the candy he recently ate. He and Tyler exchange a glance before they help each other back onto their feet. They get their bearings and begin their trek home. Fortunately, they are less than a mile walk to get there. It’s on this walk that they walked past a park where a small Wrestling company was putting on a show. A muscle bound brute, with almost as much body hair as muscles, manhandled a skinny, younger looking man. The brute got in all the offense before ending the match with a vicious Lariat that turned his opponent inside out.

The impact of that clothesline had quite an impact on young Braddock as well. While his brother thought the younger man would kick out, it wasn’t in the cards for him that night. The brute ground his forearm into the cheek and eye of his opponent while the refs hand slapped the mat three times. Tyler shook his head in disgust while Braddock rushed over to try and get a high five from the hairy brute. He walked past the fan’s outstretched hands and even spit at some but he made eye contact with Braddock before continuing backstage.

”I thought for sure that guy woulda kicked out!” Tyler complained.

”Naw, man, that almost took that dudes head off! Look at that guy…he’s still all loopy and shit!” Braddock said, pointing to the man who lost as he stumbled to the back, really selling the Lariat.

Today…

Tyler enters Braddock’s home carrying a small plastic bag that obviously came in the mail. He enters the living room where his brother is taking a hit from a two foot glass bong. He smiles when he sees his brother and exhales the hit out through the gap of his missing teeth.

”What's up, brotha?” he asks, noticing the package in Tyler’s hand.

”The postman gave me this for you. I saved him the trip. What the fuck did you buy from Mexico?” Tyler asks while tossing the bag to Braddock.

“It’s my mask!” he exclaims, ripping the bag open like a toddler chimp. He pulls out the mask and tugs it on into place on his head and over his face. It’s and all black mask with a red “Chaos" symbol on the face. ”I ordered it from a mask maker in Mexico for my upcoming match in Sin City Wrestling. When in Mexico City….ya know?” he says with all the confidence of someone who doesn’t know they are wrong. His brother laughs at him while shaking his head.

”It’s ‘When in Rome,’ dumbass.” he says while opening a bottle of Dos Equis.

”You know what I meant, right?” he retorts. Tyler nods in the affirmative as he gulps down a couple swallows of beer. ”S.W.F.’s camera crew will be here in a few days to shoot a quick interview with me about my upcoming match; you gonna be here for it?”

He shrugs. ”Sure, why not? Just chicken off camera?” he sounds hopeful and when his brother nodded he beamed. ”Yesssss" he indeed drew out the “s" sound. Braddock takes another rip from his bong before handing it over to Tyler. ”Proud of ya, bro.” he said with sincerity.

”Go fuck yourself!” Ahh, brotherly love….